Sterek Headcanons
by I'mtheAlphahearmeRoar
Summary: Here I answer all questions for my Sterek headcanons.
1. Chapter 1

1\. How Does Their First Kiss Go?

Well, let's see. Stiles has always had a crush on Derek. It's plain blatantly noticeable, and he's sure even _Scott _(who takes forever to take note of the littlest thing happening around him) has noticed quite a while ago. I mean, the pushing-Stiles-into-walls thing is, on Stiles' side of the story, an oh-yes-Stiles-likes-this-a-lot-very-muchly-in-fact thing. If that makes any sense. Which it should, because Stiles likes Derek. A lot. Very muchly. Yeah… we've covered that.

Oh, yeah, getting back to the question. How does their first kiss go? It's gentle, slow, not anything like Stiles fantasizes about their first kiss (if ever it happened, which deep down Stiles knew it wouldn't, and for that never got his hopes up). [Just let his imagination run wild instead.] So when the kiss _does _actually, well and truly happen, Stiles is slack-jawed and absolutely _shaking _with the effect of everything that's happening.

It's after they take down Kate (Scott rips into her stomach, a wound deadly enough to warrant severe damage, but the silver-tipped arrow Chris shoots into her skull is the real thing that obliterates _any _chances of her ever getting up again) and Derek is still on edge, even with the finality of the situation. Stiles has a nasty scratch running up the side of his face (Kate's claws really _do _feel as sharp as they look) and he is sitting next to Derek in the loft, hand a comforting weight on the small of his back, trying to lessen the rigid arch of the werewolf's shoulder blades.

Scott asks if they're both all right. Stiles answers for himself _and _Derek, who's silent and looking down at the floor (he hasn't said a word since Kate had threatened to _kill the one person I know you care about, Derek. I know you'll go **insane **if they die, and sweetie, I intend to make sure that happens as slow and inhumanely as possible_). [Stiles doesn't know who Kate had been talking about and really, deep down, _is _jealous of that person who Derek apparently cares for so dearly that he's as quiet as he is now over a simple death threat to _their _life that had never actually been executed.]

After Scott leaves, Isaac following (hesitant because he wants to stay with the one who turned him, helped him become the confident young wolf he is now, and in turn assist in the comfort of his "Alpha"), Stiles nudges his fingers into the blade of Derek's right shoulder, rubbing circles into the tense muscles. He mumbles softly, not sure what to say exactly, but tells Derek that _everything's okay now, she's gone, the—person, that you really care about is, uh, they're going to be all right, not in danger anymore, so ease up a bit sourwolf, things are going to be fine_.

Derek's shoulders slump and Stiles feels the load of weight seem to lift off of the man as if it were his own body. There's a moment where Derek finally looks up from the floor, meeting Stiles' eyes, and Stiles has to push back the urge to kiss the werewolf himself, after all those times picturing the perfect scenarios, because the mix of guilt and some other emotions Stiles can't make out are staring him right in the face through Derek's eyes like a cracked, damaged mirror.

The kiss comes as a surprise to Stiles, nearly has him tumbling backwards out of his seat when Derek moves his thumb up to wipe a smudge of dried blood from his upper lip, the action tender, before leaning forward and capturing the lips that Stiles has wanted on the werewolf's _for_ _months now _in a slow, meaningful caress of warm, soft flesh that has Stiles' limbs trembling from anticipation.

When Derek and his lips part, their foreheads pressed together, faces close and touching, Derek breathes out a shaky sigh, closes his eyes and says _it's you, always you, if she—if she **hurt you **_and Stiles _realizes_, is wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

Yeah, their kiss isn't what Stiles expects (rough and desperate, hot and heavy) but deep and meaningful, soul-crushingly beautiful and something that they cherish, even now, many years later.


	2. Chapter 2

2\. How Does the Sheriff Find Out?

How does the Sheriff find out? Well, it all comes down to Stiles' mouth. Now, Stiles' mouth is an absolute _pleasure_ (Derek's words…) but on occasions (and _come on,_ we all know Stiles and how his no-brain-to-mouth-filter can sometimes get him into trouble), it can never pick the right moment to shut up. (Derek, of course, knows this more than anyone else.) [And now so does Stiles' Dad.]

It starts off with the Sheriff waking up in a confused daze, in his room. (His night shift had ended six hours ago and he'd come home to Stiles sleeping peacefully—if in an uncomfortable position—with legs tangled up in the sheets, arms hanging over the sides of the bed and body nearly falling off of the mattress.) It's now 9:00am, and instead of hearing the sound of coffee brewing downstairs in the kitchen (like it usually does when Stiles makes him a cup of coffee every Saturday morning when he wakes up), he hears very lewd moans coming from his son's bedroom across the hall.

Of course, "Sheriff mode" activates immediately.

He slips out of bed, grabbing for his gun that's under his pillow and taking it with him as he carefully and silently creeps over to Stiles' bedroom door. When he gets there he closes his eyes, preparing himself for what could possibly be the worst, before pushing the door open a fraction, enough to see into the room.

The sight before him is… is something, all right.

Stiles is… Stiles is laying on his back, one leg high in the air, and _Derek Hale _is hovering over him, holding his son's leg up, and there's definitely a rocking motion going on between them... Yeah, no it doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on (and he is the _Sheriff_ godamnit, so if there's any genius here it's him). Stiles' head is thrown back, mouth open and breathing out soft, vulnerable noises that even has the Sheriff shivering, wanting to go back the way he'd came and leave these two alone. The moment in front of him looks and sounds almost like tender, sincere love making—_which it is, Stilinski, your **son **is making love to—_

Derek suddenly tenses up, dropping his head, a mix between a groan and a—a growl?—leaving him, before his eyes are flashing—_flashing, what the hell?_—and he's gasping and shuddering. Stiles follows not only a second later… coming… with a sob of relief.

That's enough for the Sheriff who, with a stumble in his step, hobbles back over to his own room. He puts his gun back under his pillow, shucks some of his day clothes on, and makes his way downstairs and out the front door.

But not before he leaves a note pinned on the kitchen fridge.

**_Going over to Melissa's. I've got a lot of catching up to do, apparently_** **_\- Dad_**

(When Melissa tells him about werewolves and everything that's happened in the town since Laura's body was found [including the just-found-relationship his son has with Derek, who is _also _a werewolf] all he can say is, "Aw crap.")


	3. Chapter 3

3\. How Does Stiles Break His Arm?

It's been said many, many, many, many times (from many, many, many, many different people) that Stiles is the curiosity that killed the cat.

Well, they'd all be right.

Curiosity is one of the main highlights of Stiles' personality.

From the time he climbed the living room curtains at age 3 (_Stiles, Jesus, get **down **from there before you hurt yourself, kid!_), to the time he sipped from his Daddy's glass of bourbon at age 5 (_**Stiles**, what do you think you're doing with that? That's for big boys. Stick with your orange juice, bud.) [But I **am **a big boy, Daddy]_, to the time he and his best friend, Scott, thought it'd be a good idea to get the ladder from the shed and climb onto the roof to recover their ball at age 9.

The day is sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and the Deputy is inside reading the newspaper (he trusts Stiles and Scott to be safe playing outside on their own, told them to come in and ask if they needed anything), when he hears the high-pitched squeal-ish scream from Scott, a loud bang, followed by wailing cries.

He rushes to the scene immediately, eyes wide in panic and heart thundering a frenzied drum roll in his chest, to stop dead-still in horror at the sight before him.

Stiles, bawling uncontrollably on the ground, clutching his left arm to his abdomen, ladder collapsed beside him, Scott babbling hysterically while touching everywhere on his son's body, not sure what to do and nearly sobbing himself into an asthma attack.

_What the hell happened here?! _he demands, kneeling down at the boys' sides, pulling his son into his arms and holding him as he continues whimpering and sniffling. Scott rambles over what had happened, hiccupping between words, still in shock and terror, and the Deputy, after a few seconds of letting it all sink in, nods, hushing both boys as best as he can as he carries Stiles inside while leading Scott along by his small, trembling hand.

When inside he gently eases Stiles down onto the couch, tells Scott to sit beside him, talk to him and keep him occupied while he walks into the kitchen and opens the freezer to take out an ice pack, wrapping it up in a towel before coming back into the living room. He hands the towel-wrapped ice pack over to Scott, asking him to softly press it over Stiles' arm while he calls Melissa and explains the situation.

Melissa is there in less than 5 minutes, hospital first aid kit in hand as she hurries over to the couch where her son's holding down an ice pack onto Stiles' arm. She moves her son's hands away so she can examine Stiles' arm, asking him where it hurts as she lightly presses her fingers over the sensitive skin. When he yelps in pain as she presses down where his wrist meets his elbow she apologizes in hushed whispers, a motherly warmth and sympathy in her mocha eyes as she says _that's definitely a break_, _sweetie._

A trip to the hospital, numerous X-Rays, two hours of Stiles' panic-stricken begging and pleading to not get a needle, eventually winning Stiles over to have the needle with a promise of a Reece's Peanut Butter Cup and the newest Batman comic and movie, a cast placed over Stiles' broken arm with him, Scott, Melissa and a few other hospital staff signing the cast, prompted by Stiles' happy exclamations of _sign my cast? Pretty **pretty **please?_ are all of the events which follow.

After all of that the Deputy can finally rest in peace, nestling a glass of bourbon in front of the TV. Stiles is in bed, comfortably cocooned in his blankets and watching his new movie _Batman and Robin: Under the Red Hood_.

(Two weeks before Stiles is due for his cast removed, Deputy Stilinski makes a new rule: Keep the kid under supervision 24/7.) [Because Stiles, standing on the kitchen table _with his cast on_, trying to reach the top of the fridge where his comic book had landed, is definitely the last straw.]


	4. Chapter 4

4\. The First Time Derek Got Hurt Badly Enough That He Didn't Heal Instantly?

Derek is brought up into a family of werewolves, and by the time he is well into his late teenage years he learns that being what they are makes them _very_ different to humans.

At 5 years old, Derek cuts his thumb while drawing pictures on a piece of paper in preschool. Of course, being only a young child, he over-reacts as would be expected, tears welling in his eyes and bottom lip wobbling. He opens his mouth, letting out a shrill, loud wail of pain that signals the teacher to his side in an instant. Though, by the time she gets there (kneeling down at his chair, hand a small comfort on his back, rubbing soothing circles and asking _aw no, what's wrong honey? _in the soft, considerate way teachers always do), the tiny paper cut has already healed up, skin re-stitching in seconds and leaving not even a speck of blood behind. Derek stares in awe at his finger, blinks slowly, before looking up at the teacher and murmuring _'m okay, s-sorry for scaring you mi-miss _with a shy, bashful smile.

That evening he tells Mom what happened at preschool that day while getting out of the tub. She only chuckles affectionately, ruffling his wet hair with a towel, explaining in words he will understand that _we're special, honey, that's why if you have an owie you'll always be okay_.

From that day on, whenever Derek gets hurt, he doesn't worry too much. He will heal in seconds anyway, so really, what's the big deal? To get all dramatic about it? No, there is no need for any of that.

Well, that is until the day he realizes that not _all _his "owies" will be fixed straight away.

It's his 13th birthday and he's playing basketball with Uncle Peter and Sister Laura, shooting baskets and hooting and hollering when they make it in. Laura is not as competitive a player as Peter is, so when Derek jumps up, about to make his 20th shot, it isn't _her_ that slams into him from behind, knocking him down to the ground and preventing him from scoring the final basket.

He hits the ground, left arm still out from where it'd been up to shoot the ball into the hoop, and the hard gravelled concrete crushes it underneath his body on impact. The sharp, distinctive **_snap _**is heavy in the air, an echo of injury, and he can't help the half-strangled yell, half-howl that makes its way hoarsely from his throat.

That is, literally, when all hell breaks loose.

Laura rounds on Peter, pushing at him in rage, spitting angrily at him before she is kneeling down at Derek's side and trying to calm him down, not with much luck because that is _bone _sticking out from her little brother's elbow and **_Peter you are so fucking dead!_**

Derek's hyperventilating, eyes stinging as he fights his own tears back, biting down hard enough on his lip that he tastes blood. Laura helps him up off the ground, arm curling around his right shoulder as she walks him into over to the house, and Derek sniffles, not being able keep the whimpers that are leaving his mouth at bay.

His mother, the Alpha, is halfway to the door already, having heard her son's howl, her eyes glowing crimson, fangs inching out from her gums when she smells her baby's blood, rage eating away at her core.

**_Laura _**_what happened to your brother! _she roars, voice rising, as does her fury when Laura bites back in an absolute snarl of _how about you ask **Peter**_.

Derek is put to bed right away, Laura instructed to _sit by him for the rest of day_,_ and all night, as long as it takes for his arm to heal_, as Talia shifts into her Alpha form, shooting out of the house on four paws, on a mission to teach her brother a lesson not to hurt her children.

The next morning when Derek wakes up, his arm is completely healed, the bone no doubt having been re-constructed over-night slowly but surely as his healing ability kicked in. He walks downstairs, still a little achy with ghost pains, but the devilish smirk that graces his lips when he sees Peter groaning, head face-palming the kitchen table while being lectured very word-violently by his father is _so_ worth it.

(And, seriously, people _still_ wonder why Derek hates his Uncle?).


	5. Chapter 5

5\. The First Time They Hugged?

The first time they hug? Ha! What a wonderful time that was. (Well maybe Derek won't agree, but Stiles—yeah he won't either.)

It's the winter season and it's absolutely freakin' _freezing_. Stiles is slowly turning into a popsicle, the gazillion blankets, beanie, thick woollen jumper and hand mittens doing nearly nothing to fight off the cold that's taken icy refuge in his bedroom. Oh. Yeah. Plus he kinda maybe has a slight head cold.

So yup. Fun times.

The fun times become even more fun-er when one _fan_tastic werewolf slides his window open—letting in _more _cold—and jumps in. And whoa, if Stiles has seen Derek in all ways possible this is _not _one of them.

The man's cheeks are flushed in a—when Stiles squints a little—not-so-good way, his usually neat and styled hair completely ruffled and tousled—and is that a _twig?_. Basically, all 'round, Derek Hale does not look like a happy person. (Which, generally he _isn't _a happy person. But nope, today he looks—and how is this even possible?—_extra_ unhappy.)

_What's got you so down, wolfie? _Stiles dares to ask because, c'mon, he's a _darer_, and gets an eyebrowful of Derek's grumpy glare. With the hair and flushed cheeks though, it looks a little cuter than threatening—and wow, did Stiles just use the words **_cute _**and **_Derek_** in the same sentence?

This head cold is _definitely _messing with his head, all right.

_What do you want? Unless you're here to make me soup, go away because I am seriously not in any mood to put up with the brood. Heh. That rhymed_, Stiles snorts, then laughs, coughing when it tickles his throat.

Derek doesn't reply just—_sniffles?_—and flumps head first on top of Stiles' impressive cocoon of blankets, crushing Stiles' legs in the process and **_Ow_**, _Derek what the hell do you think you're doing!?_

Yet again, Derek doesn't reply. Well he does, but all Stiles hears are low grumbles muffled by the material of blanket the man's head is buried in.

Stiles, for reasons unknown even now (because back then he and Derek had barely _tolerated _each other), falls asleep a few minutes later with one Derek Hale taking up half of his bed.

The next morning Stiles wakes up feeling the opposite of freezing. There's heatheatheat everywhere and the culprit is one werewolf who's latched on to him like he's a huggable teddy bear. It's the first time he's had this much contact with Derek (aside from holding him up in that pool for hours and _then _the time he was paralyzed by the Kanima and ended up falling on top of him) and it's… actually very nice.

(The only reason their first hug wasn't a "wonderful time" was because they both were sick when it sorta happened. Apart from that? Yeah, they both can admit it was pretty swell.) [_Swell?__ Stiles, I woke up to you **bopping **me on the nose and calling me 'sleepy wolfie.'_]


	6. Chapter 6

6\. Their First Big Fight?

It's a little (big) known fact that Derek and Stiles get into a lot of silly, itty bitty fights, some of them even pointless. (Stiles likes to call them tits and tats as a substitute, because the word "fight" feels too raw and violent-sounding on his tongue. Plus, who can blame him? His life revolves around werewolves. Violence and him meet up a least five times a week.) But the biggest fight they ever had? Yeah. It was not silly. It was very serious, in fact. Not itty bitty, and _definitely _not a "tit" or a "tat".

Stiles is meant to be studying for his English exam, but instead he's sneaking out without the pack's know to help them get rid of a bunch of blood-sucking vampires. (Derek had told him to _stay home, where it's safe. I don't want you getting hurt_, but Stiles never listens, does he? Nope, he does indeed not.)

He's hiding behind a bush, being subtle as ever, when a vampire decides to leap down from a tree behind him (it's been there the _whole_ _time?_) and sucker-punch him in the jaw before he can so much as yelp out _the power of Christ compels you!_

It goes for his neck while he's disorientated and cradling his jaw, fangs sharp as they pierce his skin, sinking into an artery (and he _knows _it's an artery because as soon as the vampire starts sucking, he starts to feel a whole lot weaker), blood being drawn out from him like lemonade from a fun straw.

By the time one of the pack (he's not sure who) finds him, the vampire's already had its feast. His limbs feel all tingly and numb, head heavy as his eyelids drag themselves down in exhaustion.

Suddenly there's a howl, a screech, then a gross-sounding squelch, followed by the sound of a body dropping to the ground.

Then Stiles hears nothing.

When he comes to it's to lying in Derek's bed, neck stinging a bit, and when he tries to touch it his fingers meet a heavily wrapped bandage instead of skin. His head's swimming with an achy throb, and his mouth is dry as the desert.

Derek must heart his heartbeat change rhythm from asleep to awake because the next minute he's being bombarded by _Stiles!_ _Stiles, are you okay? _and he only has the voice to respond with a _yep, just **peachy**_.

Derek deflates like all the fight's left him, and just when Stiles is slowly letting his eyes slip shut again he's being yelled at with _what the hell were you **thinking!? **_and _I told you to **stay home**_, _why can't you ever fucking **listen!?**_

He opens his eyes again, blinking once or twice before snorting, replying with _since when do I ever listen to orders, huh big guy? _and receives an absolute stormy eyebrows-of-death glare from the werewolf.

Then it begins.

_You **should **listen!_

_Yeah, right, and let you all go and get yourselves **killed!**_

_You almost **died **today!_

_Yeah, and so what? You could have all died too!_

_That vampire **sucked you dry**, Stiles! I found you barely **alive! **You were **dying **and there was nothing I could do but listen to your heart nearly stop! If Deaton hadn't known a spell to restore all the blood back into your body you **would have died!**_

That is what gets Stiles all quiet. His mouth snaps shut on what he was going to say when he sees Derek's glassy eyes, the werewolf fighting back tears of anger and relief, breathing fast and rough through his nostrils.

_I'm sorry _Stiles tries to say, but he can't. Because it's not enough. Not now. Not when he and his boyfriend have got into their first big fight over him nearly **_dying_**.

All he does, all he can do, is reach out, grabbing Derek by the shoulders and tugging him forward into a desperate, crushing hug. He squeezes his eyes shut, face scrunching up in anguish and guilt when he hears Derek breathing in his scent, feels the werewolf's whole body shuddering as he lets out a choked noise between a sigh and a sob, gripping him tighter.


	7. Chapter 7

7\. The First Time One (Both) of Them Got Jealous?

Jealousy? Ah, yes, such a lovely thing. And yep, Stiles and Derek _have_, believe it or not, had their fair dose of it. I mean, c'mon, with two hotties like _them_ standing side by side in a building, who's to say there haven't been a numerous amount of people walking up and wanting to get all up in that? In fact, it's just so happened once. And _oh_ was full-blooded jealousy _indeed_ the outcome.

Stiles and Derek are at Jungle, sitting down by the bar and sipping on their beverages, when the hunk of a guy with dirty blonde hair saunters over to sit beside Derek, sky-blue eyes darkening on first glance at the werewolf. Stiles notices with a held-back sneer, fingers spasming in a fit of rage around the glass he's holding as he lowers it down onto the bar table a little too forcefully.

He _knew _his statement earlier would come back to bite him in the butt.

(_We are **not **going to **Jungle**, Stiles. Do you **know **what my wolf will do if someone tries to hit on you?)._

[_Oh my God, Derek chill, okay? **No one **is going to hit on scrawny, pale and geeky Stiles, all right? I think you should be more worried about **yourself **while we're in there. With a face as stoic and sexy as yours—and **ass!** Have I mentioned you have an amazing ass?—those guys will be all over **you**, my friend. If anything, I'm gonna be the guy who's asked if they're even old enough to be allowed **inside **the place._]

Yep. He's definitely jinxed their night together (together? Ha! Not if this guy doesn't piss off).

Derek's talking to Stiles so he doesn't have any idea that there's a blonde douche (Stiles' inner thoughts) ogling the back of his head like it's not even Christmas yet but he's getting his present early this year. Stiles tries to pretend he never noticed, smiling as Derek mentions some of the things Scott arranged for Pack Night this weekend, but it's getting harder and harder to ignore when the guy meets Stiles' eye, seeming to get the gist of what's going on, and winks in Derek's direction.

That is _it_. No more Mr. Nice Stiles.

Stiles stands up, so abrupt that it's in the middle of one of Derek's sentences, and the werewolf stops talking with a frown, eyebrows creasing in confusion and annoyance. But Stiles doesn't notice, has his full attention on the dude he's about to give an ear-full.

He strides the two or three steps up to the guy's bar stool, taking a slight, hesitant step back when the guy stands up at the last second like he's just _ready _for a confrontation, smirk plastered on his face. He regains the confidence, though, when the guy lets out a boastful chuckle before snorting _what you want, kid?_

_What I want? What do I want? Oh, yeah, what I **want **is for you to direct your pervy-ass eyes **away **from my boyfriend!_

The guy seems taken-aback at that and immediately Stiles thinks he's won this, he's got this shit covered, but then the guy makes a come-back and just _laughs_ loudly, tears nearly escaping his eyes.

**_Your _**_boyfriend? I'm sorry, kid, but you don't even look a day older than two. A hot piece of ass like that? He needs a **real **man._

Stiles is about to smash his fist into this guy's _really _punch-able face, when out of nowhere there's an arm coming to slither around his waist, pulling him back against the chest of his one and _only _werewolf boyfriend.

**_What_ **_did you just say._

The way in which Derek says it, so calm, yet deadly and lethal at the same time, is what urges the sly grin to etch onto Stiles' face.

The guy's eyes widen, his macho attitude withering away in mere seconds as he stares into Derek's cold, steely jade eyes.

_N-Nothing, man. J-Just that your boyfriend's—he's, uh—he's u-uh, kinda cute… and stuff, yeah…_

Oh God. This is too good.

Stiles feels all of Derek's muscles tense as soon as the stammered and frightened words leave the guy's mouth, arm around his waist squeezing tighter like Stiles will slip out of his grasp and levitate towards the guy in front of them just by words alone.

_No you didn't _Derek responds, well not really, more like deep **_snarls_**, and Stiles thinks there's a chance that a slight, teensy weeny bit of werewolf features are showing—maybe a fang or two?—because the guy doesn't stay for so long after that, high-tailing it out of the proximity (ha, if he had a tail it _would have _been high in the air from fear).

Stiles manages to wiggle himself around in Derek's arms, turning to face his boyfriend, mouth going dry when he sees the bright blue flickers of neon in the werewolf's eyes.

_Whoa, Der, calm down. It's okay, he's gone, you can put the flashy headlights away now_, he says, half-alarmed that someone will see and half-amused that Derek's so territorial.

Derek just makes an inhuman purr-ish growl in his throat before ducking his head and wedging it into the neckline of Stiles' shirt, pressing wet, feverish kisses along the expanse of skin there. Stiles' knees go weak and he can't help the high, throaty gasp that leaves him when his boyfriend moans, low and husky in Spanish to him, _mi lobo va a comerte todo._

(Whelp, that wolf comment earlier doesn't seem so far fetched now.)

* * *

**Spanish Translation:** _My wolf is going to eat all of you._


	8. Chapter 8

8\. How Does Scott Find Out?

How Scott finds out? Whelp. Okay, Stiles will probably be laughing in the background right now… Yep, he is. Sigh. Well to clear the curiosity of everyone here, let's tell it. And Stiles? Yes _dude_, I am talking to you. Shut it. Scott's scarred enough without having to hear you laughing about it… again.

Now, Scott had an inkling of a feeling something was up between Stiles and Derek. Warranted, he didn't think it was anything like "that", but he did know the two had been less growly (Derek) and less sarcastic (Stiles) towards each other in the past few weeks. What he didn't know? That they were in a relationship.

Well as expected, he found out eventually the true reason why his best friend and the former werewolf were more buddy-buddy and less enemy-enemy. (And if the term _buddy-buddy _gave anything away it certainly hadn't led to Scott assuming something more than a strong, but weird friendship between the two.)

Scott is about halfway to the Stilinski's door from where he'd parked his motorcycle at the curb when he hears something other than the whooshing sound of the wind between the tree branches, something more… _distinct_. And if by distinct you're all guessing sex noises? Yeah, you'd all be right.

Oh my God, Stiles, _shut up._That did _not _give you a reason to laugh again.

So of course, Scott backtracks his decision to knock on the door, and instead takes to scaling the side of the house, climbing his way up to Stiles' window. The window which is wide open, letting in the crisp, chilly breeze from outside… and now an Alpha's inquisitive head to peek through.

Scott's eyes widen in horror when he realizes the noises he's been hearing come from two bodies writhing under the sheets of Stiles' bed. The sheets are fully covering the people underneath (_that _Scott is at least grateful for) but the breathy moans and heavy, panted groans aren't deterred by it.

And it gets worse.

Scott's frozen, watching the mass of limbs underneath the sheets wriggle and squirm, before suddenly a set of high-toned whimpers escape one of the person's lips. Yup. That's about the right time to leave.

He's about to, body a quarter way turned from the window, when it happens.

_**Ah**, Derek—I'm—haaaa—I'm gonna—  
_

Scott's foot misses the ledge and he slips, and then he's falling downdowndown from the window and tumbling to the ground below, a _crack _signifying his harsh landing.

Now, when he thinks about it (well, when _Stiles _brings it up to laugh about) Scott's pretty sure that it was the sound of his innocence shattering beyond repair.


	9. Chapter 9

9\. How Does Isaac Find Out?

Isaac finds out about Stiles and Derek in the _complete _opposite way Scott does. Instead of walking in on _them_, they inadvertently walk in on _him_. With their mouths practically sewn together and their hands groping each other's butts and just—_no_. Isaac did _not _sign up for any of this when he decided to move back in.

_Oh my G—I have **eyes!**_ he yells, grabbing a pillow and hurtling it at the doorway—where at the present moment Stiles is flailing away from Derek's grasp, just ducking the pillow in time as it soars past his head. Derek snatches it out of mid air and turns to Isaac with judgmental eyebrows as Stiles sheepishly rubs the back of his head.

_Heeeeyyy… Isaac! What—what are you doin' here?_ he says and stumbles over his words, flushing from what Isaac can guess as head-to-toe.

_I **was** sitting on the couch watching TV. Now? I think my eyesight is gone. **Permanently**. Forever. I will **never** be able to see again, _he snaps.

Stiles rolls his eyes, flush withdrawing back into the paleness of his skin and scoffs, _Jesus, Isaac, drama wolf much?_

Isaac scowls, mumbling obscenities under his breath as he gets up from the couch and trudges upstairs.

But then Stiles yells—

_I wouldn't go up there if I were you! We're going to be pretty loud!_

—and he backtracks huffily, storming out of the loft door, passing Derek's amused glare and Stiles' sarcastic smile. It's when the door closes that he hears Stiles chuckle, _I **bet **__you he's going out to buy a_ _new scarf, Derek._

Derek's answering snort is loud and unabashed.

(And for the record, Isaac _didn't _buy another scarf_… _He kinda, maybe bought three.)

[_Shut up, it's a stress reliever!_]

Yeah. Let's just go with that for the sake of Isaac's dignity.


	10. Chapter 10

10\. Derek's Possessiveness at its Peak?

Derek's possessiveness isn't exactly something that can be called good _or _bad—it's a balance between the two and at best, Stiles can admit that a possessive Derek is an equally sexy and terrifying sight.

It's sexy because the werewolf's eyes darken into a firm and heavy olive-green glare, eyebrows drawing together and forming themselves into a furry, brooding caterpillar, jaw clenching around a deep, low growl that always sends shivers down Stiles' spine and rises the hairs of his nape (and more often times than not there also becomes a rise in his jeans too 'cause, well, the pitch of that growl is _hot_, okay).

It's terrifying, but, because after all the sexy—comes the primal instinct of a wolf. And boy, it's an overly possessive animal underneath all that skin, selfish and greedy since it doesn't want to and _will not_ share its mate with anyone else.

There have been numerous occasions where Stiles has had to pull Derek back before he did anything stupid like, oh, yeah, lunge teeth and claws first at an Alpha for staring at Stiles more than 3 seconds with a bare hint of lust in the inky black pupils of its copper eyes.

Stiles has to take control sometimes, reel Derek's wolf in and calm it, soothe it, pet it, let it know that the only one he'll ever love is the loyal protector that hides itself away in the most handsome man his eyes have rested upon. It's then, _only _then, that the fierce wolf becomes akin to an adorable puppy, humming a purr as its eyes swelter sharp and icy. Stiles will smile and give the extra needed comfort, let the wolf nuzzle its nose into its favourite warm patch of his throat, pressing its nose flat against the thumping pulse that buzzes beneath the flesh.

This time is no different.

The witch has discovered he's a Spark. She wants his power, his light and essence, _him_. Stiles knows it and, judging by the way Derek's fangs are starting to poke at the upper, raised curl of a snarl on his lips, he knows it too.

_Derek, **calm**_, he says, gentle but at the same time, commanding. It's not Derek he's dealing with at the moment and if it is, it won't be for long. The wolf hasn't reared its head, has yet to flash its eyes, but its claws and fangs are out and that's a sign that Derek's control is just about slipping to null.

_Oh, so he's a following orders type of dog? _the witch titters, bemused, and Stiles' eyes widen a little in alarm as Derek rumbles a long, loud growl from the inner depths of his throat, eyes flickering momentarily from blue to their normal shade of green.

_Yeah, witch lady? I wouldn't do that_, he warns nervously when Derek's eyes snap to him, dark olive in supressed anger. _This doggy doesn't really tend to listen to orders when you piss him off_.

The witch laughs, shrill like a cackle, before she stretches her hands outwards and suddenly Stiles' feet are mobile without him wanting them to be, walking him forward like her witchy joo joo has made him a magnet to her whole being or something.

Derek's wolf yips one, two, small throaty yelps, as if completely startled by its mate moving towards the enemy. Stiles would actually call it cute if his feet weren't being used against him as a step-by-step death trap.

_Hey, hey, you can stop your witchy voodoo puppetry, 'kay? Please? _he begs, voice going high pitched. He's _literally _five or six steps away from his death.

_Oh, no, no, I want your power. All that spark juice you've got? Your magic so strong and pure, the most succulent smelling I've come across_, she breathes, eyes gleaming as she speaks. Stiles throws up a little inside.

He's well on his way to believing that this is it, this is the day Stiles Stilinski dies at the hands of a power-craving witch who's hungry for his "juice"—

—but that's when Derek's wolf surveys the witch with steely, cobalt eyes.

It must realize the truth, realize that its mate isn't leading himself to the enemy and the enemy is forcing his movements, because a feral howl rips through the clearing, hauntingly beautiful but a sign of, well, a sign of a mega pissed werewolf.

The animal is out—the man abandoned, traded for the true wolf inside.

The witch must know what it means too because she lets out a frightened _oh! _and drops her hands—Stiles' feet finally coming to a stop—before making a fast escape by running for the trees behind her. Stiles turns around, flailing slightly when he sees the wolf advancing for the witch in full beta form, saliva dripping from its fangs as it snarls and growls, cranking its neck.

_Derek—Derek, **no**. Derek, **stop**_, he yells, the demand heavy in his tone.

Derek stops almost immediately and its snarly growls die away as the wolf looks up to meet its mate's eyes. Eyes that are a dark shade of cinnamon, a crease in between them as its mate frowns. A whine slips through the wolf's fangs and its eyes flare in worry and guilt as it hesitantly takes steps towards the boy who is its everything.

Stiles sighs when the wolf skulks over to him, unsure and whimpering softly under its breath. He holds out a hand, letting the wolf sniff and press its nose into his palm. Scent marking after an ordeal like this is pretty important for Derek's wolf to feel safe and secure, to know its mate is okay and not harmed in any way.

_I'm okay, Der, it's fine_, he murmurs, lifting his other hand slowly as to not startle the wolf while in its vulnerable state, running his fingers through the dark strands of hair on its head, knuckles bumping against its ears, watching as they twitch as the wolf purrs affectionately.

Stiles pulls his hand back, baring his throat instead, waits for the wolf to nuzzle into the patch of skin above his collar bone, not expecting to get a lick on the cheek and a sloppy, full-fanged, wet kiss on the lips. He chuckles, running his hands through the wolf's hair again as he gazes into bright, timid eyes.

_You're all right, boy, you're all right._


	11. Chapter 11

11\. How Does Their Last Kiss Go?

So many kisses are shared between Stiles and Derek. Too many that to name them all is impossible. But, there is one kiss that can be named.

* * *

_Stiles, get back! It's not safe! _Derek growls at the man in front of him, who's holding up the steel baseball bat gripped tightly in his hands. (Derek told him to leave it, with himself, at home—it wouldn't do any good, if by chance Stiles had a lucky enough hit then just _maybe _it would leave a crack in the Berserker's bone head—but he hadn't listened, like usual.)

_No way. Like I said before, I am **not **letting you face that thing on your own. Yeah, maybe you fought and won in a battle with a group of them 25 years ago when you had that de-agey thing going on, but **still**. You **definitely **are not going up against a damn Berserker right now without my help_, Stiles says back, refusal and anger blunt in his tone.

Derek rolls his eyes, can't help but feel worried and infuriated at his mate at the same time. It's too dangerous for him to be here and Derek's fucking terrified that he will get hurt, or even worse, die tonight.

_Can you at least stay behind me then? _he snaps.

**_Fine_**, Stiles grumps petulantly, turning around and starting to walk all the way back to where Derek's standing.

But that's just his mistake.

As soon as Stiles turns his back, the Berserker picks the perfect moment to make its move of attack.

Derek sees the second Stiles faces him, curl of his lips bowed down in annoyance as he drops his bat to his side and takes his first couple of steps towards Derek. And he also see the rustle in the trees behind Stiles just before the Berserker comes rushing out, speeding up behind the man, unbeknownst to his mate's knowledge.

There's no time to think of what will or can happen in the following seconds, Derek just does what his instincts tell him to without hesitation.

**_STILES! GET DOWN!_**

Stiles' eyebrows scrunch in confusion when he hears Derek roar out the warning and Derek bites back a snarl as he leaps forward, pushing the man down to the ground and hovering over him, covering and protecting him with his body just as the Berserker reaches them both.

_D-Derek, wha—? _Stiles whispers, brown eyes wide and startled. Derek's own eyes are clenched shut, jaw muscles working like he's trying to swallow—

It's only then that he sees the Berserker dashing off into the woods in front of him, the tip of the bone sword that it's carrying soaked in…

_Oh God, no, no, no, no_, he whimpers, and it's then that Derek coughs, blood dribbling out from his mouth as the werewolf gasps wetly.

_I—I—told you—to—g-get—**down**_, Derek pants, grimacing in pain, losing the strength to keep himself up and slumping to the ground beside Stiles.

Stiles panics, sitting up in a flail of limbs to pull Derek's head onto his lap. He strokes his hands through the werewolf's hair, hiccupping on choked breaths.

_I—I'm sorry, I d-didn't listen—I—I should have stayed home like you said and—and I didn't and now you're dying and it's all my fault and I can't—I-I can't—_

Fingers reach up and gently cradle his jaw, smoothing over his lips in a soft caress. He blinks away tears and looks down to see Derek, arm outstretched, a small and weary smile on his face, eyes half-lidded.

_Shhhhh, it's okay_, Derek murmurs.

That just brings more tears to Stiles' eyes. Even in death it's _Derek _who's the comforting one. He's bleeding out in Stiles' lap and _still _he's the glue holding the pieces of Stiles' breaking heart together. It shouldn't be like this. At all. If anything, Stiles should be the one _giving _the comfort, _not _receiving it.

And yet, it's Derek weakly bringing his head down, pale green eyes boring daggers into Stiles' soul when his husband's lips ghost over his own in a simple caress, before pressing forward and taking, withdrawing Stiles' pain, stealing it from him in hopes of comfort. **_Comfort_**. Derek's leeching _his _pain along with the amount he's already feeling. The pain that's probably racking through his body, strong and unyielding.

Just—but, that's just the thing, the selfless thing about Derek, and in that moment Stiles wishes that for once, for **_once _**that Derek would be selfish and care more about himself than the kid who doesn't even have the mentality to match the adult he is meant to be. And what hurts him the hardest is that it's not even _working_. The more pain Derek takes—veins pulsing black like gulping mouths sucking greedily at his torment—the more his pain increases, emotions dark and thwarting in his conscience.

_St—Stop, stop, stop, **stop**_, he begs, **_pleads_**, breaking the contact between their lips in hopes of stopping his husband, his mate, the only one in his life that he'll ever love like this, from taking on the emotional agony that's wracking him from head to toe.

But he doesn't, of _course _he doesn't. That's just like asking Stiles to stop regarding his father's health and to let him eat junk food for every dinner, lunch and breakfast. _Impossible_. Just like it's impossible for Stiles to stop caring about his father's cholesterol, it's impossible for Derek to stop taking away everything that plagues his mate, whether it be nightmares, panic attacks or pain—physical or emotional.

And it's with his selfless, kind, self-sacrificing heart does Derek Hale die, slipping away quietly in his mate's arms, veins still pulsating black as he, even in the after-seconds of death, refuses to let his mate suffer.

* * *

The kiss that can be named is, of course, their last kiss.

It's—if anything—the saddest, heartfelt kiss they've ever shared, and the meaning behind it can only be comprehended by a wolf and its mate.

Because no matter how hard we humans try, even with all our might, to take the pain of the ones we love, a wolf can and will go to extreme lengths to do just that.

Sometimes, in their efforts to rid all the pain from the one they cherish, they'll give their life.

And that—that's just what Derek Hale did for his.


End file.
